


for the world we're gonna make

by Quilly



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Inspired by The Greatest Showman (2017), Multi, Secret Relationship, Triptych of Softness, soundtrack anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 00:51:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20282683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilly/pseuds/Quilly
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley: a triptychevery night i lie in bedthe brightest colors fill my heada million dreams are keeping me awake





	for the world we're gonna make

**Author's Note:**

> This started off being inspired by this GORGEOUS and EMOTIONAL animatic by TomeArt (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3cL_FtQE2GA), and kinda...evolved from there. Whoops.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy some soft husbands being soft.

** _all i want is to fly with you_ **

** _all i want is to fall with you_ **

** _so just give me all of you_ **

There was a five-year grace period between the Antichrist’s birth and when Crowley and Aziraphale had agreed to step in. The official reason given was that Crowley was not under any circumstances prepared to guide a human through the incredibly messy first few years of life—nappies and potty-training and baby food, blech[1]. That didn’t quite explain why Crowley and Aziraphale were joined at the hip these days, sometimes meeting multiple times a week to discuss their plans and reminisce about some of their more memorable times through the past. Crowley knew he certainly didn’t mind. What was even better was that Aziraphale, at least behind closed doors, seemed happier, too.

A watched pot never boils, but after six thousand years, it was bound to bubble over eventually.

One night, a year before they were to assume their personas in the Dowling household, Crowley leaned against a bookshelf and watched Aziraphale putter around his shop after a rather nice takeout dinner. For once, Crowley didn’t school down the fond smile on his face. There was something in the air, something very much like a soft swell of music at the beginning of what was sure to be an emotional and transformative musical number, and Crowley’s shriveled demonic heart was as full as it could possibly be, bursting right from his chest. This was dangerous. This was how kingdoms fell. How _angels_ Fell.

But—

“I adore you, you know,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale stopped dead. After a long, long moment, he turned, his expression all shock and wonder. Crowley let his smile grow, riding whatever wind of fate found itself under his wings. He shrugged. “World ending in about sevenish years, seems silly not to say it anymore.”

He knew Aziraphale wasn’t surprised by his feelings. They’d caught each other’s eyes enough times through history, scooped each other out of enough scrapes, brushed fingers and shoulders and knees, lingered far past the expectations of decency. Aziraphale was probably more shocked that one of them had actually said something rather than basking in the unsaid glow they produced during these soft, private meetings.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, and Crowley tossed his glasses to the side, not much caring where they landed. He stepped with more care than he’d ever taken before, walking right up to Aziraphale, who seemed to melt at the proximity, his expression achingly soft, clutching his hands to his chest like he was trying with all his might not to reach out.

“It’s gonna be fine, I mean, our plan’s foolproof, but just in case…insurance, you know.” Crowley shrugged again. “Anyway. ‘M mad about you. That’s all.”

“My dear,” Aziraphale murmured, his hands clenching further into themselves, “my darling, you must know—I—”

“I know,” Crowley smiled gently. “I know, angel.”

“I know you know, it’s just—” Aziraphale keened, a kind of wild frustration taking him in a pace around the bookshop floor, his hands absolutely twisting together. “I wish this could all be simple, I wish we could just outrun them all, go anywhere, do what we like—” Aziraphale’s pacing brought him back to Crowley, his bright eyes shining with unshed tears. Crowley breathed in sharply as Aziraphale’s hands unwound from each other and closed on Crowley’s face, cupping his jaw, and Crowley leaned into the touch with a sigh. There was infinite satisfaction in the feeling of Aziraphale’s skin on his, and warm comfort, like they’d done this a thousand times or more.

“It’s alright,” Crowley said softly, holding Aziraphale’s wrists. “It’s fine, we can—we can make this work, just like we made everything else work. All we really need’s you and me, angel, we can do this.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, his tears spilling over, and he took a step back, out of reach of Crowley’s hands. “I—I’ve been trying to see a way around this for centuries, dearest, I don’t know how. It’s all well and good in these private little moments, of course, it’s _wonderful_, but—the world isn’t my bookshop.” Aziraphale’s shoulders hunched and he seemed to collapse inwardly. “It isn’t warm and safe like this.”

Crowley, newly unleashed, found that watching Aziraphale cave in on himself and not lifting a finger to help was intolerable. He closed the distance again, mind racing for something soothing to say. Aziraphale’s despair was infectious when his face crumpled like that. A cinder of rebellion that Heaven ignited and Hell hadn’t been able to crush started to burn in his chest, adding to his emotional inferno. His hands came up to bracket Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“I choose you,” Crowley said, his voice low, fierce. “You hear me, angel? I _choose_ you. With every particle of my being. With my whole shattered soul.” He squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulders, running his hands up and down Aziraphale’s arms. “I’m not meant to choose anything, but I do. I don’t know how it’s possible, I don’t know how it happened, but here we are anyway. You’re right here, where my heart should be.” Crowley let go with one hand to indicate the space, feeling his pulse thrumming in time with Aziraphale’s. “Just an angel with a sweet tooth and too much love in him.”

Aziraphale didn’t raise his tear-filled eyes to Crowley’s, but a sad smile crossed his face as he reached up to smooth down Crowley’s lapels, not moving his hands from Crowley’s chest after. “All I want…” Aziraphale finally looked up. “I love you too much to let anything happen to you, Crowley, and if we take one more step…I can handle being imprisoned, I can handle Falling, I can handle anything done to me. I cannot and will not abide any harm coming to you.”

It wouldn’t be half so painful, Crowley thought, if Aziraphale wasn’t right about their respective employers’ methods of punishment if they knew, but Crowley had the kind of optimism born from always coming out of scrapes on top[2]. “You think I want anything happening to you, either? Earth is great, definitely worth not drowning or killing in a final stupid war, but it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun without you. Everything comes with a risk, Aziraphale. If I’m facing Hell’s torments and everything in between, I want to do it knowing I made the most of every second with you.”

Aziraphale gave a wet laugh, pulling Crowley’s face down and resting their foreheads together. “My brave darling,” Aziraphale murmured. Crowley’s entire being felt electrified, soaking in the warmth and affection being so openly given. “I wish I was worthy of you.”

“Shut up, angel, you’re perfect,” Crowley choked, finally feeling tears well up in his own eyes. He was so caught up in the moment, he didn’t realize Aziraphale’s wings were out until he was being sharply tugged upwards. “Wha—”

Aziraphale, still weepy, was smiling now, flapping in the suddenly cavernous expanse of the bookshop, holding Crowley’s hands. It took Crowley a minute to catch up, but once he did, he unfolded his own wings and followed Aziraphale in an aerial dance, the two of them twisting together, spinning, laughing like children in a way Crowley didn’t remember them ever being free to do before. Aziraphale was radiant with joy, the kind of radiant that didn’t burn so much as uplift. If certain details were conveniently excluded, they could have been playing in the firmament like young angels. Crowley chose to ignore the implications of that image in favor of pulling Aziraphale into a desperate hug as they spun, winding down back towards the floor, laughter fading into smiles buried in shoulders and hair. Crowley clutched Aziraphale like a lifeline as they touched down, and Aziraphale held him just as tightly.

“I wish…” Crowley mumbled into Aziraphale’s hair, and Aziraphale pulled back, stroking his thumb across Crowley’s cheekbone so softly he wanted to cry again.

“I know, dearest. I know.”

Crowley put his forehead to Aziraphale’s again and breathed, in that space that was just the two of them, back in a stuffy bookshop that held decades of quiet love in its very floorboards. “One day, angel, we’re not going to have to hide. I promise you that.”

“Might as well try and change the stars, love,” Aziraphale sighed.

“I hung the stars, I can bloody well change where they are if I want to,” Crowley growled, and Aziraphale chuckled. It was quiet, and the air was warm, and Crowley had to do very little effort to press his lips to Aziraphale’s. He was expecting a quick peck, maybe just a little stolen moment before Aziraphale’s pragmatism caught up, but was pleasantly surprised when Aziraphale twined his hand in Crowley’s longish hair and pressed him closer, leaning into the kiss with a gentle sigh. There wasn’t a rush of floodgates of six thousand years of longing, it wasn’t the time for it yet. This was a promise, an assurance. Crowley poured every ounce of tenderness held in his entire body and soul into it, and when the kiss ended naturally, he didn’t open his eyes, afraid that once he did, it would really be over and it would be time for him to leave.

“I love you,” Crowley whispered instead.

Aziraphale’s lips fluttering over his closed eyelids and once more on his mouth was more than answer enough.

.

** _so i risk it all just to be with you_ **

** _and i risk it all for this life we choose_ **

Life, as it’s wont to do, went on after that night. If there was an uptick in stolen touches and open, soft looks, that was nobody’s business but Crowley and Aziraphale’s.

Being in the guises of Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis was a uniquely freeing experience. Brother Francis brought Nanny Ashtoreth flowers often, sweeping his hat from his wispy hair and smiling with his whole stocky body. Nanny Ashtoreth spent some of her Sundays off in a rocking chair on Brother Francis’ front porch, sipping wine and smiling gently at his chatter. Their not-so-secret mutual adoration was the talk of the Dowling household. They’re cute together, like an old married couple, the maids sighed. D’you think his teeth get in the way, mused one security guard to another, before being told by his companion to shut up. So long as they weren’t stirring up drama, Harriet Dowling didn’t mind at all, very secretly relieved Nanny Ashtoreth was so clearly besotted and not an object of interest to Thad[3].

As for Warlock, it was hardly something he concerned his young head about. Whether or not his nanny and the gardener were courting[4] had nothing to do with aliens or racecars and was therefore beneath his notice.

Heaven and Hell were disinterested as always, even concerning the upbringing of the Antichrist (he wasn’t eleven yet, so who cared?), leaving Crowley and Aziraphale free to do as they pleased. They had excuses all ready to go, something about distracting the enemy, but as Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis bickered about the proper way to care for begonias, it was easy to let go. Just for a little while. He called her “my dear” and “my lovely,” she called him “that man” in fond tones to Warlock while undermining his lessons on kindness and Good, and it was all so domestic Aziraphale feared he would discorporate from joy.

On a rainy winter Sunday, cuddled up together on Brother Francis’ lumpy couch, glasses and buck teeth discarded, Crowley sighed. It was a particular sigh, one Aziraphale knew preceded bad news. He didn’t remove his arm from around her shoulders, or his hand from her knee, but he did squeeze her with comforting commiseration.

“The ambassador wants to switch to tutors, come the new year,” she said softly. “Says it’s ridiculous to have kept a nanny on for so long, now that he’s halfway to eleven.”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured. “Still. The timing works out, I suppose.”

“I’m not ready,” Crowley whispered. “For any of it. Not ready for Warlock to be eleven, not ready for Armageddon...not ready for this to end.” She laid her hand on his chest, right over his heart, which beat just for her.

“I know,” Aziraphale sighed, and pressed a kiss to her temple. “We knew this wouldn’t last forever.”

“It’s not fair,” Crowley hissed helplessly. Rather than get caught up in circles of misery and the unfairness of the universe and possibly devolve into an argument, Aziraphale turned her chin towards him and gently kissed her. It had the double benefit of diffusing the mounting tension somewhat, and having Aziraphale kiss Crowley, which was bar none his favorite activity these days.

“There’s still a few weeks, my darling,” Aziraphale murmured against her lips, knowing full well his face was going to be smeared with dark red before this was over. “Then…well, who knows.”

“Then eight months to Armageddon, where you and I figure out if we’ve done our job properly or not, and after that…” Crowley trailed off, sitting back, stroking her fingertips through Aziraphale’s sideburns thoughtfully. They hadn’t actually talked about what would happen after that. All their focus had been on preventing the end of the world. Aziraphale frowned thoughtfully.

“Hmm. What do you suppose…”

“I mean, it’s too soon to say,” Crowley shrugged, her fingers drifting, one hand on Aziraphale’s collar, the other brushing through the coils of chest hair poking through the relaxed gap of Aziraphale’s shirt. He shivered. “There’s what Heaven and Hell are going to do once the Antichrist doesn’t do his job, and what’s going to happen to us if they find out what we did…”

The somber mood that descended curdled Aziraphale’s warm happy calm. He stroked his thumb over Crowley’s knee.

“We’re rather walking a tightrope through this mess right now, aren’t we,” he sighed.

“Fantastic view, though,” Crowley grinned, and pressed into Aziraphale’s space to kiss him again, just the barest edge of hunger to her touch. Aziraphale’s hand traveled from her knee to her thigh as her arms wound around his neck. They broke apart with significantly more panting than usual, Aziraphale chasing Crowley’s lips for another quick kiss. “I mean, this is all an adventure anyway, right? Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.”

“I do so admire your optimism, dearest,” Aziraphale smiled, shifting Crowley into his lap, both hands traveling up her legs now. Her woolen skirts were warm across his legs, Crowley’s body against his pleasantly pliant, and really it was shaping up to be a lovely evening. “I believe I owe you a picnic, once this is all over.”

“I’m holding you to that, angel,” Crowley grinned.

Aziraphale had been quite right; his face was absolutely smeared with Crowley’s lipstick of choice for the day, but then, so was hers; later on, significantly more rumpled, they curled up on the couch, Crowley pillowed on Aziraphale’s chest, Aziraphale running his fingers through Crowley’s wrecked curls.

“You’re still wrong about the begonias,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale laughed, kissing Crowley’s forehead.

“Next time we have a garden to look after, you can tend to the begonias however you see fit,” he promised. Crowley nestled her face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, and he could feel her smile.

“Holding you to that, too.”

.

** _and from now on_ **

** _these eyes will not be blinded by the lights_ **

** _from now on_ **

** _what’s waited till tomorrow starts tonight_ **

_“Friends, we’re not friends! I don’t even like you!”_

_“There is no our side, Crowley! Not anymore! It’s over!”_

It was all over and done with now, the rest of their lives spreading before the world like a yellow brick road of possibilities, and Aziraphale was being held hostage by his own words.

He’d been scared, of course. And maybe trying to get Crowley to disengage for his own safety, to leave Aziraphale behind and figure something out for himself. It didn’t excuse him. It didn’t even matter that Crowley didn’t seem to mind, because Aziraphale minded. Aziraphale took all their years of friendship, all their tender moments, every kiss and touch and small act of rebellion in favor of each other, and balled it up and thrown it back at Crowley’s feet like garbage. “I forgive you,” he’d said instead of “Let’s go.” It didn’t matter that it all worked out in the end, because Crowley had needed him, and Aziraphale had let him down, and really, how was he supposed to recover from that? How were either of them going to move past it?

“Or I’ll never talk to you again,” Aziraphale had threatened, and Crowley had complied. Aziraphale made sure to call him a demon and a liar to his face often enough in public to cover their bases, but hadn’t made up for it in private, ever. Had Aziraphale ever apologized in his life? Well, yes, but to Crowley specifically? Ever told him he didn’t really mean it when he said they were on opposite sides? Frankly it was eating Aziraphale alive, and he deserved it.

The Ritz had been lovely, of course, a moment of fresh air after a harrowing morning, and Crowley was all soft smiles and gentle teasing, like nothing at all had happened. Aziraphale had been too happy to pretend, as well, but cut the evening short afterwards, claiming exhaustion.

“Okay, angel,” Crowley said, an uncertain tinge to his voice. “I’ll…see you later, then?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale nodded, and closed the Bentley door and went into his shop. That had been four days ago. Crowley had called. Aziraphale hadn’t answered. Or, at least, Aziraphale hoped Crowley had called, because he hadn’t picked up the telephone once in four days to know for sure. He wasn’t wallowing. Angels didn’t wallow. Angels pondered, and they meditated. And what Aziraphale was currently pondering and meditating upon was if it was possible to drown himself in his cocoa cup and spare Crowley the shame of his acquaintance[5].

Or.

Or…

On the morning of the fifth day, Aziraphale left the bookshop and hailed a cab, which, despite its driver’s better judgement, wound up winding through little villages in the South Downs. Really, the poor man was getting too difficult to manage, so Aziraphale put him to sleep and let the car do the driving. He was looking for something specific, something…

After probably a good four hours of listening to the cabbie’s snores and looking out the window, Aziraphale found it.

He let the cab return to London, woke the cabbie, paid him exorbitantly for his time, and sent him on his way. Now that he had the location, popping between here and there would be simple. Caution told Aziraphale he should be more careful about his miracle usage. Another voice that sounded suspiciously like Crowley said who gave a toss what Heaven thought anyway, his power came from the Almighty, not them.

Aziraphale called Crowley, got his answering machine, and hesitantly asked Crowley if he would mind terribly meeting in St. James’ Park the following afternoon, just for a stroll. Nobody called him back, which Aziraphale tried not to take personally. Reminding himself that it was his own blasted fault didn’t seem to help much.

Crowley was already at their bench when Aziraphale made it to the park, and Aziraphale felt his nerves make an attempt to call off the whole thing, but he maintained his steady approach. Crowley heard him before he made it there, anyway, and craned his head around to look at him. Aziraphale hated himself for the uncertainty that had etched itself into Crowley’s face as he watched him approach, Crowley’s eyes hidden away and mouth perfectly straight. Aziraphale hesitated only a moment, then sat with a respectful amount of distance between them, putting his hands by his sides and maybe foolishly hoping Crowley would see the one between them for the shy invitation it was.

“I do apologize for the silence, my dear boy,” Aziraphale said, and there, the first apology chipped off the mountain. Crowley shrugged and made a noncommittal grunt. “However…I have something for you, if you don’t mind taking a drive.”

One of Crowley’s eyebrows raised. “Something for me?” he repeated.

“It’s a bit of a ways away, but I think it’ll be worth it, if you’ll indulge me,” Aziraphale said, unable to stop the anxious wringing of his hands and completely ruining the implicit offer of hand-holding he’d been trying to maintain. Crowley’s entire posture seemed to soften then, and the corner of his mouth curved up.

“Yeah, alright,” Crowley said, and stood, waiting for Aziraphale to join him before setting off. There was silence between them, but rather than leaden and guilt-ridden, it was a little more comfortable, if still stiff. The Bentley wasn’t far (it never was), and Aziraphale was so distracted by mentally planning his presentation that he didn’t even comment on Crowley’s driving.

“Angel, I’ve almost hit six pedestrians and you haven’t said a word,” Crowley said once they were out of London proper. “Where are we going, again?”

“South Downs,” Aziraphale said, already noting that they were going in the correct direction. How miraculous. “How…how are the plants?”

“Behaving,” Crowley said. “Where’ve you been, then?”

“At the shop, mainly,” Aziraphale replied. “Decompressing. Processing. Last week was rather a lot.”

“Yeah,” Crowley mused, relaxing back into his seat, one hand on the steering wheel, and the other draped over the back of the seat. If Aziraphale wanted to, he could scoot just a touch to the right…and he found he did want to, and so he scooted. After a moment or two, Crowley’s arm found itself around Aziraphale’s shoulders more than on the back of the seat, and Crowley relaxed further. “Guess we both needed some space, eh?”

“I really am very sorry for not reaching out sooner,” Aziraphale said softly. “I was…preoccupied.”

“With this surprise of yours?”

“In part.”

“What was the rest of it, then?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale could see the side-eye he was getting over the frame of Crowley’s glasses, which had slid down his nose at some point. “I thought…”

“I owe you many more apologies than I’ll be able to get through just in this car trip, dearest,” Aziraphale said gently, tangling his fingers up with Crowley’s free hand on his shoulder, and Crowley latched onto him greedily. “For now, I’m sorry I made you worry.”

“Yeah, alright,” Crowley said, and flicked his chin at the car stereo. It immediately started crooning in the unmistakable voice of Mr. Mercury, and Aziraphale let himself lean into Crowley as much as he dared while Crowley was driving. Soon enough he had to sit up to give Crowley directions, and removed Crowley’s arm from around his shoulders in favor of holding Crowley’s free hand in both of his and stroking his thumbs over Crowley’s skin.

“And…here we are,” Aziraphale said, indicating a lone cottage nestled on a hill, within walking distance of cliffs and paths down to the ocean. Crowley opened his mouth, seemingly unable to make any sound whatsoever, and tightened his grip on Aziraphale’s fingers.

“What’s this?” Crowley asked softly as they pulled into the drive. The cottage was a mess, overgrown and in obvious disrepair, but the bones of the place were good, at least. Aziraphale smiled at Crowley as he cut the engine, raising Crowley’s hand to his lips and planting a kiss on his knuckles.

“Let’s have a look,” he said, and wriggled out of the Bentley, Crowley on his tail. The air was fresh with salt and already chilly, the sky overcast, and Aziraphale bounced on the balls of his feet as Crowley stood beside him, taking it all in. “Could use some work, obviously, but there’s plenty of room inside, and lots of land for a garden or a conservatory. Once the sun goes down, I imagine the view of the sky’ll be breathtaking.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, his fingers digging into Aziraphale’s without seemingly knowing, “what _is_ this?”

“An apology,” Aziraphale said. “And, if you’d like, a promise.”

With that, Aziraphale gently tugged Crowley forward, up the weed-choked walk to the front porch, and opened up the door. Inside, the cottage was abandoned but not in obviously bad condition, the bottom floor almost entirely open between kitchen and living room and dining area. It opened up to broken French doors that had a great view of the potential garden space out back, and stairs tucked away that led to a modest upstairs, two bedrooms and a bathroom. Aziraphale stood in the doorway of the master bedroom, which overlooked the side of the house that had a view of the cliffs and the sea, and watched Crowley carefully. He hadn’t said a word as Aziraphale chattered about the various accommodations and plans, his throat bobbing now and then, but Crowley’s vice-tight grip didn’t loosen once.

“I don’t understand,” Crowley croaked.

“I’m afraid…I’m afraid I said some rather horrible things to you, my dear,” Aziraphale said, turning to face him fully and taking Crowley’s other hand. “And I’ve been saying them for as long as we’ve known each other. It was cruel, what I said last week especially. And I don’t really expect you to ever forgive me, so…I thought this might be a start at making amends.” Aziraphale looked up at Crowley’s cracking expression, then disentangled one hand to reach up for the glasses, not touching them until Crowley mutely nodded. Crowley’s eyes were wide, a whole host of emotions playing over his face in a rush Aziraphale couldn’t sort out. Aziraphale shrugged, putting the glasses in Crowley’s jacket pocket and retaking his hand.

“I thought maybe we could build a home here,” Aziraphale said quietly. “If you’d like. Just for us. And…and if you’d let me, I’d like to spend as long as it takes, making up for my behavior.”

Crowley made a strangled sort of noise, bringing Aziraphale’s hands up to his face and pressing his mouth against them. Then he yanked Aziraphale forward and crashed into him, wrapping himself so thoroughly around him that they tumbled back onto the dusty hardwood floor. Aziraphale wheezed a bit when Crowley’s weight landed on him, but he didn’t weigh much, really. All discomfort was forgotten when Crowley’s mouth found his, kissing him desperately.

“You—you found this,” Crowley said between kisses, “for me?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied. “Is it—?”

“It’s _perfect_,” Crowley breathed, and pulled back just enough to look Aziraphale in the eye. “You don’t have to keep apologizing, angel, I forgive you. I forgave you the second I thought I lost you in that fire. I…for a little while, I thought you’d been right, to put some distance between us, but it hadn’t helped you at all, did it?”

Aziraphale was a bit overwhelmed at that, and rubbed his thumb across Crowley’s jaw. “I’m afraid I haven’t quite forgiven myself for it,” Aziraphale said wryly. “But…you’re sure? This is…something you want?”

“Only since 4004 BC,” Crowley laughed, and kissed him. “I have a condition.”

“Anything,” Aziraphale said. Crowley sat up and hauled Aziraphale into a sitting position, not letting go of his hand.

“We work on this by hand,” he said. “As much of it as we can. Maybe we leave replacing the appliances to the experts, but the paint, the cleaning, the garden—we do it. Me and you. We build this home together.”

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale frowned, “I’m going to have to purchase some work jeans, aren’t I?”

“Yes, how awful for you, to finally join the current century,” Crowley teased. “Jeans and maybe even a t-shirt, how will you survive?”

“I expect how I survived the toga falling out of style,” Aziraphale grinned[6], and kissed Crowley’s sharp smile. “I accept your condition.”

The day bled into evening as Crowley and Aziraphale walked their new property and talked endlessly about plans they had, problems they spotted, plants they’d buy[7]. By evening Crowley summoned a picnic basket and a blanket spread on the living room floor with a knowing smirk of “well, you did promise” written all over his face, and they continued talking about the cottage and the past and what they could see in the place. By the time they finished the second bottle of wine, the stars were popping out of a miraculously clear sky, and Aziraphale grinned, pulling Crowley to his unsteady feet.

“Look, dearest,” Aziraphale said, pulling Crowley outside, “look!”

Crowley’s mouth fell open at the view over the cottage, and Aziraphale preened with unbridled joy at the look of wonder in Crowley’s eyes. “They’re so close,” he said hoarsely, covering his mouth with his hand and definitely tearing up.

“I guess we rearranged them, after all,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley looked back at Aziraphale with such naked devotion Aziraphale felt his own eyes stinging. What a weepy pair they made, he thought with no embarrassment. Crowley’s awed look morphed into a smile that bordered on wicked, and with little ado, he spread his wings and launched into the sky, carrying Aziraphale with him. Aziraphale yelped, then had the sense to get his own wings out to keep up. They danced through the starry sky over the cottage that was theirs, laughing[8] and whooping and definitely, definitely kissing.

There would be time later for them to argue about wall paint colors, whether an eggshell finish was better than a matte one, to compromise on a beigey off-white until Crowley found a muted blue-grey they both adored. There would be time for Crowley to drool over Aziraphale’s stiff work denim and his plaid button-down rolled up at the sleeves, and for Aziraphale to dab Crowley’s nose with the paintbrush when he made a lascivious comment about Aziraphale’s backside that devolved into a paint war they had to miracle up later. There would be time for the plumbing incident[9], and the roof debacle[10], and the case of the possessed nail gun[11].

For now, though—for now—Aziraphale held Crowley in the sky and knew right down to the core of his being that from now on, this was where he belonged, here in this home with his love, and this is where he would stay.

[1] The unofficial reason may also have had something to do with wanting the formative years of Warlock Dowling’s life to be entirely human-influenced, thereby giving him a better chance of turning out normal.

[2] Or at least not discorporated, which was the same thing, really.

[3] Who knew very well that if he had any interest, there was an army of household staff ready to make his life a living hell for getting in the way, and in Thad Dowling’s opinion, having a wife was work enough without trying to balance a mistress on the side, especially a mistress so tall and bony and demanding as Nanny Ashtoreth would surely be.

[4] They were both such odd characters that “courting” was the only word anyone could think to apply to their arrangement.

[5] The cocoa cup wouldn’t have dared.

[6] How Aziraphale had done that was to complain about it until it was either ditch the toga or be killed by zealous Christians eager to overthrow the old order, and really, in the face of that, a change of dress wasn’t so bad.

[7] Begonias were the first thing to be mentioned, followed by a suggestion of an apple tree, to be pondered upon and revisited at a later date.

[8] And occasionally pointing out roof damage, good thing they thought to come up here.

[9] One clogged pipe, one intrepid demon snake, and four hours of hapless wriggling before one angel came back and discovered the waterfall down the stairs flooding from the upstairs bathtub.

[10] Aziraphale was no longer allowed near ladders.

[11] A stressful afternoon, that. The poor contractor would have unsettling nightmares he could never quite remember for the rest of his days.


End file.
